


A King to a Mob

by Nimravidae



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bottom!George, Canon Era, Come play, Face-Sitting, Happy 4th, M/M, Orgy, Rimming, Wet & Messy, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/pseuds/Nimravidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Alternately titled: In Which George Washington Needs to Relax and his Favorite Harem of Twinks Are Happy to Help)</p><p>Since the ao3 tag was too long: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington/John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette/Benjamin Tallmadge</p><p>The Twink Orgy you always wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A King to a Mob

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesweetpianowritingdownmylife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife/gifts).



> Happy Fourth, everyone.

Washington tugs experimentally at the silk ties around his wrist. Secure. Very secure - though he knows that if he pulls hard enough, and at just the right angle he could break himself free. Or, of course, he could ask and he is sure his captors would oblige his sensibilities.

It provides comfort to know they are there, still, though he can make out their quiet whispers and mumblings only so much to recognize it as French littered with the occasional giggle and humored huff. He can only tell from whom it comes by the voice, his eyes covered in a doubled black cloth just as smooth as the ones that bind his hands to the posts of the bed.

Alexander is the one who whispers sharp and quick, Gilbert laughs before he responds in a language Washington cannot understand with the occasional slips of John’s lower toned voice. If Benjamin remains with them, he hasn’t spoken enough for Washington pick his voice out.

They’d approached him as a pack, Alexander at the head with the salacious grin and the sway of his hips too enticing to turn down, even at the base the mountain of work he has yet to climb for the day. _“Sir,”_ he’d said with that purr in his voice while John’s hands fell to rub the knots at his shoulders and Benjamin kissed his knuckles and Gilbert nudged his legs apart. It was a calculated attack, set directly for his weakest points.

Relentless, were the forces against him. He was felled quickly to lips against his own, _“We wish to help you relax, your Excellency. To take all the need to decide from you, if you would like. We will take care of you if only you let us.”_

Bolder men have fallen for less. Enticing, the thought; addictive, the bodies pressed against him.

He couldn’t have imagined a scenario better than the one his was gifted. Blinded by the cloth, bound naked to the bed - left at only the mercy of his most beautiful and trusted officers, incapable of choosing anything now.

It was Benjamin, with his soft and ever-present desire for sureness that asked him, while deftly knotting the silken scarves, _“You will tell us if you become overwhelmed, right, sir?”_

It was John who stroked Washington’s bare chest and kissed him to say, _“Trust in us. As you always have.”_

It was Gilbert who shifted from the side of the bed, only soothed by Washington’s smile. _“We wish to lessen the weights for even one night.”_

And Alexander, straddling his lap to secure the blindfold, working him up to a fever-heat with his lips at his jaw. _“Relax.”_

They left him temporarily, hums of appreciation sounding around him before they began their discussion that leaves him there, the bed creaking under him as he shifts slightly.

“Stay still,” comes a soft chiding from Alexander. “We do not wish to bind your legs as well, do we?”

Washington swallows and stills, a white-hot singe of arousal trickling up his spine. His boys voice had pitched down, low and commanding, to keep the order firm. Even if he wished to (which he very certainly does not) he doesn’t think his body would dare disobey.

His other lovely men fall silent, but footsteps soon sound. One set first, light and slow and he jumps slightly when a warm hand brushes his hip. “My apologies,” comes Benjamin’s voice. Closer, quieter. He still sound so unsure, just as he had been in the beginning of this, but his warm palm curves beautifully around the rise of his hip.

God, how he wishes he could see it. Wishes he could lay his eyes upon his beautiful boys while the rustling fabric signals their disrobing.

Benjamin’s hand follows down the length of his thigh. He hushes him with a soothing noise and Washington can’t figure why - is it that he trembles under the gentle touch? That in the seemingly deafening noise of his own breath he’s missed a desperate whimper?

Any reason could be the source and he only desperately wants to know so he could elicit another gentle hum from the man again. Hands come to his other side, following footsteps, and he can’t quite tell these.

Not heavy or big enough to be John’s, surely, so perhaps Alexander? But it could be Gilbert as well who pushes his touch up his chest, close enough to press soft kisses to the side of his ribcage.

And another set - this time at his bicep, following the lines of his muscle with fingertips and then a hot slide of a tongue. That talented tongue follows down, down until he’s mouthing at the line of his throat and Washington tilts his head as far to the side as he can to make more room.

Someone moans. It may have been him.

He’s lost track of Benjamin’s hands, lost track of who’s lips are where on his body as they melt around him and touch him and tease him until he’s properly shaking. Someone nudges his legs apart, breathing hot and heavy at his inner thigh.

Someone else wraps their lips around the head of his cock and makes him groan loud enough that he could hear it over his own rushing blood and pounding heart. Hands are everywhere, touching him, stroking and squeezing and raking tripped nails up his taut abdomen - it’s dizzying.

A voice, heavy and rough with a thick lust, whispers, “We’re going to take very good care of you,” and clips its teeth against the lobe of his ear. He shivers and nearly writhes where he’s bound as the sting is soothed by lips before that mouth resumes its previous task of lavishing all of Washington’s neck with attention.

The creature between his legs slinks up, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses up the insides of his legs. Alternating and teasing and dripping slowly up and down and up and down - much in the fashion Washington had once teased his boys before. The mouth on his cock moves on - a decisive whimper falling from Washington’s lips.

“Do you want to see how beautiful he looks?” the hot mouth against his neck asks, “he fits so perfectly between your legs. Watching you while he teases, getting you all flushed. You are practically writhing beneath us - we are going to exhaust you until can hardly think, let alone control your hands enough to master a quill.” It must be Alexander, he thinks, it must be.

Who else has such a tongue on him? But then there is a tongue on _him_ and Washington can no longer distinguish anything but the sensation he’s wrought upon these men countless times. What the man between his legs lacks in finesse he makes up in enthusiastic intent, hands guiding his legs up as he brings it down relentless with hot breaths and hot lips and his entire body tenses and arcs into it.

Someone in the distance curses, low enough to almost be missed and Washington knows better than to chastise. It isn’t his place like this, it isn’t his place now - instead Alexander chuckles low against him, a hand skating along the expanse of his chest. “Language, my dear boy,” he chides and a shiver rakes hot and heavy down Washington’s spine.

Is that what he sounds like? Rough and coarse when giving reprimanding his boys as they all tangle naked limbs? No wonder they can only hardly obey.

His pinches hard at one of Washington’s nipples, tearing a groan from the back of his throat. “Good,” someone else says but the sound all floats around him to where he struggles to pinpoint from where. There’s footsteps. There’s the slick sound of kissing, soft gasps and gentle moans - all blending together into a haze beyond his hidden eyesight.

All coming to a point with a tongue working him open steadily. The mouth slips up to his stones as instead, a slick, delicate finger presses gently against him.

Washington could hardly be asked to withhold his gasp. And yet, he is once again tsked, this time paired with a pull at his nipple. “Have you a better use for your mouth than to disobey our orders?” He asks, thumb flicking over the sensitive nub for just a moment to send a wave of skittering fire through his core.

“I could offer a use for him,” the voice is clearly Gilberts this time. Down enough towards the end of the bed, breathless enough with a familiar sound of pleasure, that he doesn’t know if it was his mouth setting Washington aflame or if he is merely at someone else’s will.

“Do share, my dear Marquis.” Certainly Alexander at his chest, changing to instead drag his nails along the nerve-lit expanse of his chest. Each sensation is heightened.

The breathing heavy at his thigh, the fingertips pressing gently and tauntingly at his entrance, the hands upon him, the lips upon him. Each one too much in their own and yet not enough together - his achingly hard cock resting neglected against his stomach which every other inch of his skin is lavished in attention and touch.

“His mouth, it is very talented,” Gilbert manages through a whine, “I think it would make a fine seat for our esteemed leader in this endeavor, no?”

A seat? Realization creeps at the edges of his fingers and then rounds all at once down his spine with a filthy, low, _desperate_ , growl that could not have originated from Washington’s own chest. He’s never made such a sound in his life, but it had to have been his own.

The hands and lips upon him all at once cease. The heat of the room builds and builds to a fever pitch and the body beside him, which Washington had admittedly grown rather used to, shifts away.

“Please, sir,” Washington whines, rules cracking for just a moment (though judging by the wrecked moan offered, he does not mind), “I would be honored.”

He hurries, the bed dipping and creaking and bodies shifting around him to make room. Someone grunts, “up you go,” and then there’s a faint thud which could’ve only been a fist hitting some bit of flesh. Still, he arranges himself and Washington can feel the heat of his body, the knees pressing against his ribcage.

“If I must lift myself, kick at the man at your thighs.”

Washington grunts an affirmative and slowly, the body hovering above him lowers down and he is fully encased with a familiar sensation of need and want. He can tell, by the body pressed against him and the way he twitches and reacts to quick, light passes of his tongue, that it’s Alexander.

Clearly, the way he mewls (though muted, of course) when Washington presses, just faintly, the flat of his tongue against his hole. Tasting his flesh and sweat and desperation all at once.

The bedposts creak as he pulls hard on his binds, forgetting them in the moment in a desperation to _touch_. To hold him by the thighs and drive his tongue deep into this willing, beautiful body. To taste every inch of his skin and ravish each one hot and hard and raw until every single man in this room is nothing but pleasure and bone.

Above him, Alexander laughs and grinds his hips down, _down_ , against his face and Washington’s moan is lost to the skin.

He serves dutifully as a throne for the king of this room. Only stuttering in his constant attendance when finally, a slender finger presses to the first knuckle. Smoothly, hardly a burn but still hesitant. He groans an approval against Alexander’s hole and continues his task at hand.

Washington slips between wet, sloppy passes of his tongue to pointed pushes against his rim to nips to hot kisses and each builds the force of Alexander’s moans slowly and steadily until he sounds like he’s falling to ruin.

He swears above him and Washington does not have the presence of mind to care. He can’t even keep track of the time passing, only knowing it’s even gone when one finger working slowly into him becomes two stretching him to a hiss.

Chin slick with spit, he serves these boys with everything he has. Alexander grinds down harder, more riding than sitting as he works to an uneven and desperate pace until he stutters and cries out, hard and high.

His release lands hot on Washington’s chest, he should feel disgusted - ashamed of being used as such but all he can find is a raw, animalistic delight. Alexander exhales a chuckle, dismounting after a moment and humming somewhere to Washington’s right.

A warm, slicked, thumb swipes over his lower lip and, obediently, Washington laps at it. “Good,” comes Alexander’s voice. He must have brought himself off with his hand, or steadied himself in his own mess as he lets Washington lick the remains of his seed from his fingers one by one.

“You look wonderful like this, gorgeous. If only we could summon a painter or risk a sketch so that you may also lay your eyes upon the sight. Flushed, filthy, taking two fingers into yourself so very well, you give so well for us,” withdrawing his fingers, he strokes down the length of his cheek. “You are so very wonderful, so very loved by us.”

If he could have, he would have purred under the touch. “Do you wish I remove your blindfold? Let you look upon the servants of your pleasure - nod, do not speak.”

He nods. He would very much wish to see them. To see the beautiful creatures that he is so blessed to be consorting with. “Shall we?”

So it is Benjamin then, between his legs, who purrs a soft, “I think it best,” low against his skin in such a familiar voice. Washington’s entire body twitches with a whine as those words and punctuated neatly with a sharp nip high on his thigh.

Perhaps, he thinks desperately, it will bruise. A reminder of this exact moment to hold him through the coming days. But Benjamin is always so careful, so methodical, he doubts as much as he hopes.

Blessedly, thankfully, Alexander unties the cloth from ‘round his eyes and, at first, he is forced to squint against the light that burns at him. But adjustment comes slowly and his assessments were rather correct.

Benjamin kneels between his legs, stretching him slowly with his fingers - lips red and chin slick with spit. Alexander was high up at his side, grinning down at him with this dark, smart eyes and a sated, wicked grin. John’s cock was buried deep in Lafayette - who had one leg up on the bed, the other flat on the floor - as he fucked him with such a deliberate slowness it’s no wonder Washington had failed to hear.

“You may speak only to tell me,” Alexander says with a kiss to Washington’s jaw, “how you find the view.”

“It…” His throat his dry - his tongue sticking against the words and he stops to swallow, “Beautiful.” And it is. Nothing but nude, sweat-slick bodies pressing hot and close enough to feel the radiating heat off each one like a blaze.

Alexander chuckles beside him, twisting up to catch Washington’s earlobe between his teeth. A gasp ripples itself up from the man and he follows it with a whimper. He takes his time, less biting and more lapping against the shell of his ear and nosing up to his temple and kissing down his cheek and biting _hard_ at his neck.

John’s panting voice cuts through, muttering something in French and Benjamin responds, slightly clumsily, in kind. Soon the fingers vacate him and Washington is forced to flex his hips to not thrust back down in search of the filling touch again.

He isn’t forced to wait long, however, as Benjamin repositions himself swiftly - the slick head of his cock replacing the press of his fingers instead. Washington’s breath catches hard and tilts his hips up - pleading silently for what the young Major has to offer.

The stretch is hot and slow and he thinks Alexander might be whispering in his ear but the words are garbled and lost in the flames. It’s been so long - so very very long since anyone has had him like this. Benjamin stops, strokes his flank, and then continues on once Washington has relaxed enough to allow for such a movement.

Benjamin kisses the side of his knee as he pushes it up to sink deeper and someone else, his ribcage. Washington casts his wild gaze around to find the familiar mess of sweat-drenched hair. Lafayette follows the contours of his side with his tongue, behind him John leans back - spent cock limp.

He had left Lafayette hard and heavy and Washington feels deep in his chest is is the intention.

It isn’t long until he is proven correct. Benjamin trembles between Washington’s spread legs - his head tilted back and his eyes squeezed shut as he breathes in carefully measured inhales and exhales. Washington can’t think how often he’s seen him penetrate anyone else - surely it was not often. He wishes he could wrap his legs around the boy, urge him more but the stillness seems to be more for his own benefit that Washington’s.

When they’ve both adjusted to such the difference, Alexander whispers in French again and Lafayette ceases his gentle bites and licks to Washington’s side and straddles him instead. Oh… their intent becomes clear again.

Very clear indeed.

Lafayette sinks down on him, already loosened and slick from John’s treatment and release and Washington does not even feel the need to buck his hips up into the still-tight heat. He knows he will be well taken care of.

The first soft roll of Ben’s hips has him hissing out a groan - matched harder and hotter by the first twist of Lafayette’s. Alexander is back again, whispering such sweet words as his two boys work him over at a building pace.

“So good for us, so very _very_ good for us. You take Ben so well, dear General, and Lafayette as well. You are so very beautiful,” he answers each praise with a kiss. Not ending his litany of praise and want and need until Washington is a keening, gasping mess.

Pleading to be permitted his release in short, huffing breaths, with Benjamin fucking steadily into him and Lafayette onto him.

There’s a tutting.

Not until they finish, he’s told and it could be ages of this torment - of this perfect, pleasure agony until another hot splash of seed lands on his chest atop of the drying mess left by Alexander as Lafayette’s body convulses and tenses around him.

It’s nearly impossible to stop himself from reaching that hard peak. Nearly. His blunt nails bite into his palms as Lafayette is assisted off and his heavy, aching cock is left bare.

Benjamin’s thrusts reach an erratic point - harder and heavier and sharper as they fall out of coordination. Then he’s met with the hot rush of seed inside him - a feeling hard to forget - and Benjamin groans his name loud enough to echo in the spaces left in George’s chest.

He slumps forward, still deep inside him for the time being, and someone else takes hold of Washington’s cock.

The General nearly - or perhaps he does - sobs with gratitude. Two strokes is all it takes for the touches and kisses and words and bodies to all come to fruition and stripe thick across his own flesh. Over the remains of two other men, coating him in their slick release as thoroughly as he is sweat.

His eyes drift close. When they open again, he is empty and aching and sore - but his wrists have been unbound. Another long blink and Lafayette is curled at his side and someone tells him how well he did.

Someone else, with thin, deft fingers and a talent for words, draws his fingertips through the wet mess upon his abdomen and spreads it daintily to form a lovely little _Ours._

But the young man is blurry through half-lidded eyes. He’s kissed, slowly, softly.

And he falls asleep, content, with four young men piled upon his bed and his body - a fair reminder of just what was worth fighting for.

**Author's Note:**

> You know where to find me on


End file.
